Archive of Our Own

Taehyung emerges from the revolving doors of his office building into the bustle of lunch hour and, as is his custom, stops for a moment to find the hills.

There’s a gap in the buildings across the street that provides a good vantage point, and Taehyung often finds himself wanting to point it out to a passing stranger. The hills are massive, majestic, looming over the skyline to the southeast, rendering the high-rises entirely insignificant. The buildings, in turn, obstruct the daylight, render him entirely insignificant. 

He spends long minutes gazing absently at the hills from his little living room window every morning. But he can’t see them from his drab cubicle at work so he makes a point to check in with them whenever he leaves the building. To ground himself or to humble himself or to psych himself up as needed. It’s a habit of perspective. Some days, the hills are an encouragement, an inspiration to achieve and persevere. Alive with the sound of music, or whatever. Other days, like today, they mock him for his triviality and ruined potential. When (he asks himself for the seven hundred thousandth time) did he end up stuck in a desk job ? 

He walks up the block, matching the fast, obligatory metropolitan pace of the business causal set surrounding him. It seems very important for everyone to look like they know where they’re going, and Taehyung is good at letting his stride convey the same deliberation as everyone else, but he really has no idea where he’s going at the moment. He doesn’t know if he wants to go somewhere for lunch, or just go for a walk around the block, or hail a taxi to take him into the hills where he’ll become a hermit with a beard who lives off the land and watches the city in detached amusement from afar. Hard to say, really. So he just moves along in the tide of pedestrians, playacting at being a harried young professional. 

People used to tell Taehyung he had something special. He’d humbly blush when relatives would pinch his cheek and tell him to remember them when he was famous. He’d tried to be modest when teachers would praise his unpredictable wit and encourage him to express his creativity. He’d grin sheepishly at lovers who’d look starry-eyed into his face and tell him he was beautiful. But he’d known (well, he had thought ) that they were right about him. He had a unique charisma, ideal proportions, a complete lack of stage fright, and probably far too much hubris to have ever actually made it all work for him.

He knows he’s still got the good-looking, charismatic, oddball charm thing going for him, but he never quite figured out how to wield that weapon. And at some point he realized that his outbursts (because that’s really what his unbridled moments of self-expression had been) could make other people feel uncomfortable. And this had made Taehyung feel uncomfortable. Like he should be reining himself in, or at least be more self-deprecating. It’s fine to be quirky, but it’s inappropriate to be a show-off about it. It’s a great thing to be handsome, but a terrible thing to think you’re handsome. It’s good to be noticed, but only if you’re not trying to be noticed. 

So over the years Taehyung has internalized his protagonist complex and assimilated. And now he works in a boring job, wearing boring (but still classically stylish, goddamnit) suits, and meets boring friends in tastefully decorated but utterly boring bars in the evenings. Goes to the gym because he’s supposed to. Posts pictures of aesthetically pleasing restaurant meals on Instagram. Hides away his wild impulses and vivid dreams and the fact that he’s really a complete weirdo because that’s the path of least resistance when you’re in your twenties in the big city and no one likes a drama queen. 

He had blazed through high school and university in resolute rejection of conformity, determined to shine, and now look at him. He’s wearing a tie by Calvin fucking Klein and his socks match and he’s probably going to have a salad for lunch. 

He’s not fond of his trajectory, but the path of least resistance is a downhill slope with irresistible momentum and he’s caught up in it now. He’s committed to this version of himself because it’s too much work to go back, to unpack himself from the glitter-covered box he’d left on some dusty shelf. It’s only in the glorious and forgiving world of his imagination that he allows himself to be the spazzy free spirit he truly is. And most of the time, this works fine for him. 

But today, a day riddled with particularly frustrating emails about nothing, intolerably cloying coworkers, disappointing coffee, and some stupid hookup from last weekend who won’t text him back, the path of least resistance feels like something he should resist. The momentum is a burden and he’ll be stuck in the ever-moving rat maze of the city forever.

And right now he just wants it to stop. He just needs to stop walking for a second. So he comes to an abrupt halt. To breathe, to check in with himself, maybe have a good stare up at the hills again.

He stops in the middle of the sidewalk as the commuters rush around him like water around a rock. And that’s when he sees him.

Jeongguk is on the phone with his manager as he steps out of the elevator into the lobby of his condo building.

“Be there by two. Is all I wanted to say,” his manager sighs. She prefers texting and Jeongguk prefers calling. She hadn’t even said “hello” when she’d answered. Though to be fair, Jeongguk hadn’t even read her text before he’d tapped the phone icon next to her name.

“I’ll be there by, like, 1:30,” he assures her. She’d planned to send a car to pick him up, but he wants some fresh air and some semblance of freedom so he told her he was going to walk.

“You want me to get someone from security to go with you?” 

“Don’t worry, I’m totally incognito,” he says as the doorman bows him out of the building.

“Baseball cap or bucket hat?”

“You’re actually getting someone to follow me, aren’t you.”

“No, it’s just - people are starting to recognize you in a bucket hat.”

“I’m wearing a hoodie and a mask. I don’t look like anyone. I look like everyone.” Jeongguk is starting to feel frustrated. “I’ll see you in a bit,” he says stiffly, ending the call. She means well, but now Jeongguk is on edge. He’s not a fan of sunglasses, but he’s otherwise about as covered up as he can be. Just hoping no one recognizes him from his disembodied eyes. 

He keeps the eyes that might give him away cast down on the pavement as he pops earbuds in, chooses a song, sets his pace to its rhythm. He knows from experience that if he doesn’t look at anyone, they’ll be less likely to look at him. The peace that comes from anonymity starts to warm his muscles, eases his breathing as he walks. 

The desire to blend in, to escape his celebrity, isn’t constant. He wouldn’t be who he was if that were the case. Rather, he just likes finding moments, sometimes, to disappear into the city, to watch others the way they might watch him. It’s a treat, a luxury, and it’s important to Jeongguk to have these moments every now and then. They’ve been harder to find lately. 

He feels a pinch behind his ear and reaches up to adjust the strap of his mask around the complicated tangle of earrings and earbuds. But then, as if to punish him for this latest bid for independence, the mask strap snaps off. Just, snaps right off, and the mask falls off his mouth and hangs loosely from his other ear. He curses under his breath but keeps walking, determined to not draw attention to himself, he takes the mask into his hands, fumbles with the strap, tries to knot it back together. But the karma gods must be feeling especially petty today, because next thing he knows he’s dropped the mask into a puddle.

“Fuck me,” he mutters. 

He stoops to pick up the worthless, dripping thing and he’s looking around for a rubbish bin when he hears the sound he knows all too well. An elated, high-pitched shriek.

He sighs but plasters on a smile in the direction of the shriek. What’s he going to do, run away?

Five minutes later, he’s prying a misty eyed girl gently off his arm with a hasty reminder that he really does have to be somewhere and he’s sorry but he really can’t pose for pictures but it was so nice to meet you and oh thank you that’s so sweet. A few other passersby are starting to eye the scene and Jeongguk needs to get out of here.

He backs away from the girl with an apologetic smile, eyes darting around for a sufficient escape route. A public elevator to the metro dings open nearby and a few people step out, and he’s been saved. He manages to hurry in and punch the ‘close doors’ button before anyone joins him. 

He’ll take the subway. It’s a nice alternative to a walk even if he has to forgo the fresh air. Nobody is looking for him on the subway. Nobody expects anything of him underground, except to keep to himself. Everyone on public transit wants to be anonymous and wants everyone else to be anonymous. Hell, Jeongguk could probably shout profanities up and down the subway car and people would determinedly look away, stare at their phones with blank faces, assume he’s some loony that will leave them alone if they leave him alone. 

His breathing returns to normal as he taps his passcard (the one his manager told him to get rid of months ago), surreptitiously studies a map and then makes his way to the proper platform. He won’t risk putting his earbuds back in - his senses are still on high alert, maskless, the echo of that girl’s shriek still echoing in his head - so his fingers tap out a rhythm against his thigh to keep him company as he waits. The train arrives, the gust of air from the opening doors feels almost like the breeze aboveground, and the car is relatively uncrowded. He manages to find a seat that’s not directly across from anyone. 

People may not be looking for him down here, but he tugs his hood forward a bit more and keeps his gaze on the ground, just to be safe. 

When he was a boy he’d play a game with his mother on the subway. They’d look at the feet of the people across from them and quietly try to guess, just from the shoes and the posture of the feet, who the people are, where they are coming from or going to. Dirty white running sneakers that shuffled over each other and kicked against the foot of the seat could belong to a shy student on their way to school. Patent leather pumps, one heel jiggling free in an erratic rhythm must’ve belonged to a nervous businesswoman on her way to an interview. Wrinkled feet in house slippers could be a grandparent rushing to meet a newborn grandchild. Scuffed Doc Martens next to a guitar case were easy: a musician, maybe coming from practice or going to a gig. A young Jeongguk would sometimes sneak a peek up at the person belonging to the shoes (despite his mother’s reprimands that it’s rude to stare) to see if his predictions rang true on the commuters’ faces. 

And he can’t help himself now, when a pair of fussy little ballet flats with ankle length tan stockings settle into the seat across from him. It’s most certainly a little old lady, probably with a handbag on her lap, probably won’t recognize him. So he glances up.

It’s a little old lady alright, but she is holding a phone up in front of her face, lens pointed right at Jeongguk. She’s not even trying to be subtle. 

Today, it seems, is not his day.  

His eyes drop back down instantly but he feels exposed. He props his elbows on his thighs and brings his face into his hands, trying to hide himself, to burrow into his hood. But now he can feel the person next to him twist around to look at him. He can hear the granny across from him emit what sounds like an offended huff. 

He senses a shift in the energy around him, feels the weight of more and more eyes on him even though no one seems to be talking. Yet. He hopes the code of subway silence holds up now that he’s made it clear (he hopes) that he doesn’t want to engage. Hopes no one tries to touch him because he’s starting to feel trapped down here and he’s not sure he won't lash out. There are probably already going to be articles about this: how he rudely ignored a sweet old fan on the metro. But he can’t bring himself to look back up at her; to invite the whirlwind that will follow.

He keeps his face in his hands as the train slows, listens for the name of the station they’re pulling into. It’s still a couple stops short of where he needs to be, but he needs to get off this train.

He waits until the last second to rush over and slip out the doors just as they start to close, keeping his eyes glued to the ground. He keeps his eyes down as he shuffles along with the flow of human traffic in front of him, hoping it’ll lead him to the exit. Eyes down on the escalator. Eyes down into the daylight. 

Feeling entirely dejected, he pulls out his phone, sends a text. He receives an immediate reply informing him a car will pick him up a few blocks away. He hopes he’s walking in the right direction to the designated intersection; he’s too much on edge to look up, even to check the street signs. If he looks up, they’ll find him. 

He goes below, they find him. He goes above, they find him. He tries to be standoffish, and he’s approached. He tries to be approachable, and he gets overwhelmed. 

And now every person he passes on this crowded sidewalk is a threat, a risk, and it’s not fair. The sudden, crushing awareness that he can probably never go out in public by himself again hits him like a stack of bricks. Foolish of him, really, to think that he could. He doesn’t belong to himself anymore. And all he wanted was a moment - just a moment - to be nobody. 

So he stops. In the middle of the sidewalk. Just to catch his breath. Head low, practiced eyes cast forever down as sneakered and loafered feet pound around him. Only, just a few paces in front of him - he senses it before he sees it - a pair of feet has stopped moving at the exact same time as his. 

His gaze moves upwards in slow motion. He knows - he knows- he shouldn’t look up, but there’s something about those smooth black leather brogues - not the shoes themselves (which scream young professional), but rather the restless energy that seems to have brought them to a halt. A restless energy that matches his own. He looks up, because he can’t help himself. He looks up, because for an irrational moment he thinks he may see his own face looking back at him. 

He doesn’t. But the face he does see is beautiful, and he can’t look away. Can’t move. Can’t seem to drag his eyes back down. 

Taehyung recognizes this man, knows his name. Has seen his airbrushed features on billboards and screens and candy wrappers all over the city. He’s unavoidable. An objectively attractive man, but also not a cookie-cutter rendition of beauty standards. Thin upper lip, a somewhat oddly proportioned nose. Taehyung hasn’t given Jeon Jeongguk much thought before - that’s the business of starstruck teens and entertainment executives - except to appreciate the slight peculiarity the guy seems to emit, even when made-up and photoshopped into some sort of golden god.

Jeon Jeongguk’s rounded eyes give off this particular glint, even when plastered into frozen forever in a magazine ad for a smartphone or smudged into smokey high-fashion oblivion. And it’s not the kind of glint that you see from actors or supermodels whose eyes might convey mystery or solemnity or drama or sex. It’s a glint of bewilderment, almost discomfort, and a few times Taehyung has wondered how such discordant eyes can be so appealing to so many people. The rest of Jeon Jeongguk’s face, his body, may convey adorable excitement or dynamic power or sultry intrigue or whatever else, but his eyes are always restless. On TV. On cereal boxes. 

That’s why, even though the man standing in front of Taehyung is dressed plainly in a hoodie, unassuming, no make-up (a few blemishes, in fact, visible along his jawline), that’s why when the man’s gaze lifts and those dark, unsettling eyes come into view, Taehyung recognizes him. 

Taehyung’s heart launches into his throat and he tries to look away, because certainly he’s not supposed to be making eye contact with Jeon Jeongguk on the street in the middle of the day. But prying his gaze away from those enthralling eyes takes effort , and holy shit, Jeon Jeongguk is looking right back into his eyes. 

It occurs to Taehyung that he doesn’t think he’s heard Jeon Jeongguk’s voice before. At least not that he can recall. He’s just seen his face. Absolutely everywhere. And now here. Still just standing there, looking at Taehyung. And Taehyung is suddenly wildly curious to hear his voice. 

“So sorry, am I in your way…?” Taehyung opts for polite, shifting his weight to indicate he’ll move along shortly, hoping to receive a simple pleasantry in return.

“Oh- n- no!” The celebrity speaks in a thin little yelp, “No, no, no, no, no-” and Jeon Jeongguk reaches out and places his very famous hand on Taehyung’s very insignificant shoulder. Taehyung is bewildered. And the golden god in a dark hoodie is stammering, looking entirely the deer in headlights and it may be the most adorable thing Taehyung has ever seen. 

Jeon Jeongguk trails off but doesn’t look away. They’re both standing still, watching each other watch each other, one’s hand on the other’s shoulder, as willfully ignorant bodies pass them by without a second glance.

Taehyung, cocky shit that he knows he is, has often bragged to friends that he’d never be starstruck if he met a celebrity (never caring much for pop culture in any case). And if he ever does have the opportunity to meet someone famous, Jeon Jeongguk would be far from his first choice. The guy is striking, has intriguing eyes, but he’s too ubiquitous to be truly admired. Right? And yet, here Taehyung is, absolutely, unequivocally, starstruck. 

Act. Normal.

“Do you want me?” Taehyung blurts out.

What.

“What?” 

“Shit no, I mean, uh- ha... do you want me to-” now it’s Taehyung’s turn to stammer. But before he can form some sort of cohesive explanation, the man in front of him visibly tenses. 

“Oh god,” the celebrity groans, and he’s finally stopped looking at Taehyung, dropped his hand, eyeing something on the other side of the street. Taehyung is ready to melt into a puddle of mortification, just leak right into the cracks of the pavement and fade to oblivion, so he lets out an involuntary gasp when Jeon Jeongguk suddenly grabs his arm (his actual arm!) and steers him into an alleyway. 

“I’m sorry,” he’s saying in a low voice as he guides Taehyung next to a fire escape, but Taehyung’s not sure his ears or his brain or his existence are functional in this moment, “just some people I need to avoid back there, would you mind, just for a second, if-” and it’s a scene out of a goddamn movie as Jeon Jeongguk swings Taehyung around so his shoulder makes contact with the wall and they're both leaning sideways into the brick, facing each other, close. Too close. The hood of what is probably a very expensive hoodie very nearly brushing against the sides of Taehyung’s face. The eyes under the hood are directed downwards, but they look fevered, sharp. 

“Can you see if anyone is coming?” Jeon Jeongguk murmurs at the ground. 

Taehyung glances around the hooded head to the mouth of the alley and sees nothing but the blur of city denizens going about their business. Looks back at the face under the hood, those round, inscrutable eyes now darting back up to his own. God, he can feel his breath on his face. 

“Well?” 

Taehyung should say something. He seems to have left his words back on the busy sidewalk. He tries to clear his throat delicately, ends up vocalizing an awkward grunt. Swallows. Mentally slaps himself.

“Doesn’t look like anyone’s coming,” he finally utters, hoping the slight tremor in his voice befits the intrigue of this mind-boggling back-alley escape. 

The very, very famous man closes his eyes in relief, as he tilts the corner of his forehead against the wall with a surprisingly high-pitched sigh. The sound makes the skin on the back of Taehyung’s neck tingle. He suddenly wonders why there isn’t an entourage of assistants and publicists and bodyguards swooping down on them. But they seem to be alone, for now. He looks out towards the street again. Feels compelled to say: 

“You’re safe.”

Jeon Jeongguk’s eyes blink open. “Thank you,” he breathes. He peers into Taehyung’s face with an openness Taehyung has never seen in any of those publicity spots or adverts. He looks ordinary. Handsome, but ordinary. It’s incredible.

And for the third time in two minutes they just stand there looking at each other. They’re both breathing harder than they should be. There’s something happening in the air molecules between them, but it’s unreadable, intangible. Something shimmering, or perhaps vibrating. It may be nothing at all. Or it may be magic. 

Taehyung thinks he sees a question in Jeon Jeongguk’s eyes, and he suddenly, desperately wants to answer it. He places his fingertips gingerly on the man’s chest and he leans in. His innate impulsivity rearing its wacky head. He has no idea what he’s doing. But here he is, dipping under the guy’s hood in epic slow-motion, breathing him in as he comes to rest his forehead against the other’s. Their noses, their lips are mere centimeters apart. 

“You’re safe,” Taehyung repeats in a whisper.

The celebrity’s eyes flutter closed and he lifts his chin ever so slightly and this, this is an invitation. And Taehyung accepts. 

Their mouths meet, and this is insane, and his lips are warm and soft and moving against him, and this can’t be happening, and there’s a hand cupping the back of Taehyung’s neck, and he can taste the man’s sweet breath and this must be a glitch in the matrix but his entire being is compelled to keep going, to press in, to open his mouth and to feel the intimate, spellbinding sensation of a tongue sweeping past his teeth, to kiss (and kiss, and kiss, and keep kissing) a hooded stranger in a shadowy alley. 

But it’s not really a stranger, is it. 

After several melting moments, Taehyung pulls back, and his heart (and, fuck, his dick) twitches when Jeon Jeongguk leans forward with a small hum and chases Taehyung’s lips, eyes still shut. Taehyung gently pulls away (because, like, what the actual fuck is happening here), the famous eyes blink open and the moment is over, but the unspeakable energy between them remains, sparkling, pulsing, implying.

Taehyung sees his own awe and confusion mirrored on the face in front of him. 

“What’s your name?” Jeon Jeongguk asks, his eyes all sparkly. 

“Tae-” he can’t breathe. “Kim Taehyung.”

“Kim Taehyung, you know who I am.” It’s not a question, and the man sounds resigned when he says it. But Taehyung’s distracted by the way his own name sounds coming out of that mouth. That mouth that he just-

“Yeah, yes. I know who you are.” A pause. “Hi,” he adds, grinning nervously. He receives a sheepish smile in return and he’s very much tempted to fall back in and kiss that smile, but he bites his bottom lip and attempts to reel himself in. “So. Those, um, the people back on the street…”

“Paparazzi.”

“Bummer.

“You have no idea.”

“Yeah, I really don’t.” This inane comment somehow causes Jeon Jeongguk’s smile to widen, all teeth and laughing eyes and scrunched nose. Taehyung is a weak, weak man. “Sorry. For, um,” Taehyung gestures unhelpfully at the wall. 

“Why are you sorry?”

Because isn’t he supposed to be sorry for whatever the fuck just happened? He kissed a famous person who didn’t even know his name, against a wall, in a back alley. That can’t, like, be allowed. But Taehyung is a loose cannon, even to himself, and his shock is starting to turn into something like confidence and Jeon Jeongguk is still smiling at him. 

“Actually, I’m not sorry.”  Taehyung tries to look earnest as he says it, and not like some horny groupie. 

“Good,” the celebrity says softly, leaning his back fully against the wall. “Wild, right?” He says, and he looks wild as he starts to pull Taehyung back into him.

“Wait, is this like a setup? Am I getting, like, Punk’d?” And Taehyung whips around and actually starts examining the alley for hidden cameras. 

“No, honest. I just - you caught me on a weird day.”

“Oh, is there. Um. Anything I can do? Mr. Jeon?”

“Hah, jeez, don’t call me that.”

“Jeongguk-ssi.”

“Don’t even-”

“Jeongguk.”

“There you go,” Jeongguk chuckles a little. “Anything you can do? Hmm, I think you already did.” Jeongguk tugs gently at the hem of Taehyung’s jacket, and the coy smile he gives Taehyung makes Taehyung really want to kiss him again.

So he does. Taehyung can feel the grip on his jacket tighten as he presses into him, planting his forearm on the wall next to Jeongguk’s head, using his other hand to gently angle Jeongguk’s chin so their mouths align perfectly. They kiss once, twice, before Jeongguk nibbles a little on Taehyung’s bottom lip, which drives Taehyung crazy. He swipes his tongue against the roof of Jeongguk’s mouth, his hand migrating from Jeongguk’s jaw around to the back of his neck and under his hood, where he threads his fingers through his sensuously soft hair. He feels Jeongguk sigh into his mouth, feels his fingers creep under his jacket to grip his lower back.  Taehyung releases a small moan from the back of his throat. 

He feels dizzy, floating. He feels like he could keep doing this for hours. He feels like time doesn’t even really exist anymore. 

But Taehyung must be hardwired for self-sabotage because he suddenly pulls back and says with wonder, “I didn’t even know you were gay.” 

Why. Why would he say that? Of all the offensive, overstepping ways to ruin this moment. He’s about to backtrack when Jeongguk replies.

“I’m n- I don’t have a sexual orientation.”

“You’re asexual?” Taehyung wants to tell him that it doesn’t matter anyway. That it shouldn’t. 

“Maybe? I don’t know. I mean, I’m very sexual -” Jeongguk blushes, and Taehyung’s stomach swoops “- I just don’t, like, put a label on it? They don’t want me to, anyway. It’s easier,” he adds, like he genuinely believes it. 

Taehyung thinks he can appreciate that. But the “they” Jeongguk refers to makes Taehyung feel hesitant, like he and Jeongguk are both suddenly some sort of pawns. 

There’s a buzzing sound, and Jeongguk pulls a phone from his pocket and glances at it.

“Ah, shit,” he says as he types out a message, “I have to get to a thing.”

“Oh - ha, yeah, of course you do, I mean, you probably -”

“Can I have your number?” Jeongguk holds out the phone.

“Me?”

“No, the other guy I was just making out with.” Jeongguk looks shy despite his sarcasm, and it blows Taehyung’s mind.

He feels Jeongguk’s eyes on him as he fumbles to input his contact information. In a moment of boldness (he seems to be having a lot of those today), he enters the kissy lips emoji next to his name. He quickly locks the phone before he changes his mind.

“Hey check it out, we have the same lock screen,” he says, pulling out his own phone to show him. It’s not the exact same, but they both have photos of what are distinctly the southeast hills that overlook the city on their screens. Jeongguk’s photo is lush and green while Taehyung’s shows the hills in mid-winter, all blanketed in white and dotted with dark evergreens. It’s not necessarily an uncommon picture; probably everyone in the city has a photo of the hills. Taehyung points it out as if it’s some sort of evidence to explain what has happened between them. But it sounds lame. 

“Ah yeah, the hills really put you in your place, don’t they,” Jeongguk says generously. “Much needed perspective.”

It makes Taehyung feel warm that he feels the same way about the hills, the ones he checks in with every day. Their fingers brush as Taehyung hands Jeongguk his phone back, and he feels that rippling energy between them again. 

“Anyway,” Jeongguk is saying as he starts to walk backwards up the alley. “Got your number now, maybe we can, I don’t know, go for a hike up in the hills someday or something.” Taehyung has the completely absurd thought that Jeongguk doesn’t want to stop looking at him as he continues to back away with this goofy grin on his face. Taehyhung certainly doesn’t want to stop looking at him. Jeon fucking Jeongguk though.

“Yeah,” Taehyung says stupidly, “or something.” He raises a weak hand in farewell,  Jeongguk waving back and disappearing around the corner, adjusting his hood and tilting his head down as he goes. 

So that just happened.

Taehyung remains still for a moment, not looking at anything in particular, trying to make sense of the last ten minutes. He’d been an ordinary nobody on his ordinary lunch break. He’d stopped to catch his breath and gotten the breath knocked out of him and his world flipped upside down.

A few minutes later, just as Taheyung is finally emerging from his thoughts and back onto the bright sidewalk, dazed and fuzzy, his pocket buzzes and his heart stops. A text from an unknown number: “ Hi, Taehyung :) ”

Oh god. Taehyung stops dead in the middle of the sidewalk again, gaping at the device in his hand. Someone bumps into him but he barely registers it. He has Jeon Jeongguk’s number now. His actual phone number. He has a brief, irrational thought about how much money he could get for this particular series of digits. But he would never. Not just because of the ethics, but because of the kiss. He’s going to be reliving that kiss for days. (Months? Years? In his obituary they’ll write ‘once kissed Jeon Jeongguk in an alley and it was amazing’?) 

But then maybe the text isn’t even from Jeon Jeongguk. Maybe it’s spam. Or maybe Taehyung had originally entered the wrong number of last week’s hookup and cruel fate decided now was the time he’d actually hear from them. But no. It must be him. Taehyung knows it’s him.

And then: should he text back? Ignore it? Write it off as a fluke and assume this is something Jeon Jeongguk does on the regular to get his kicks? Kiss strangers in alleys and then blow them off? Feels like a thing a celebrity might do. Either way, it’s definitely lame to text back right away. Inappropriate. Weird. Still, his finger hovers over the screen, tempted.

But just as he sighs and locks the screen, recommitted to his practiced self-restraint, another message pops up and Taehyung nearly drops his phone.

“When can I see you again?”

Oh.

Right now? Tonight? Forever?

Jeez, reel it in. 

Taehyung is free Wednesday night, should he mention that? No, Jeongguk probably needs to book things out weeks in advance. Jeongguk. The first name. The hooded god. The man who stopped on the sidewalk, right when he did. No reply seems right for the magnitude of the encounter. He’s not sure if it’s the enormity of his fame, or just something about him, or the beautiful impulsivity of the moment they shared (it’s probably a combination of all three), but Taehyung is enamored. That it happened so quickly is irrelevant, or if anything it’s indicative of something promising. That this strange and strong attraction appears to be mutual has Taehyung emboldened, his repressed ego stirring. But he can’t figure out what to say.

When he gets back to the office, he opens his notes app and starts composing, trying to find the right words. He toys with song lyrics, metaphors. Emojis. Considers and then rules out a meme. Writes four paragraphs explaining his actions and apologizing for his rash behavior, and then deletes it all.

Two hours later he hits send and leans back in his chair, exhausted and trembling and breaking into a smug smile.

“Hi. Soon. :)”

It’s early spring, and they’ve been seeing each other, secretly, for three months. 

It has to be a secret, because Jeongguk is Jeongguk. And the world is the world. Jeongguk knows it must be hard for Taehyung, but he tries to make it worth it for him.

And to his credit, Taehyung seems to accept the circumstances with an admirably stoic grit. Taehyung had actually brought it up first, the first time they slept together, just two days after they’d met. (Jeongguk was surprised they’d even lasted two days, given the electricity of their first meeting, and the painfully flirtatious texting that had followed - Jeongguk finds he’s really starting to like texting these days.) Before a breathless Jeongguk had even gotten as far as pushing Taehyung’s unbuttoned shirt off his delicious shoulders, Taehyung had put a palm on Jeongguk’s chest and asked about the implications. All sincerity and concern and big eyes.

And Jeongguk had reluctantly confirmed that no one could know, that his personal life was basically akin to a state secret, and that he understood if Taehyung didn’t want to take it any further. He’d felt a deep twinge of shame (and also a notable shock at the magnitude of his lust) that he hadn’t made this clear before sticking his tongue so enthusiastically down Taehyung’s throat.

But Taehyung had assured him that he understood and that they’d just take it one step at a time and then he’d put his hot mouth on Jeongguk’s skin and Jeongguk had dissolved into bliss and now they’ve just been taking it one step at a time. One night at a time. One irresistible, mind-numbing, toe-curling fuck at a time. 

They usually meet at Taehyung’s place, or else a hotel, since camera-happy vultures are too often staked outside Jeongguk’s complex. Jeongguk really likes Taehyung’s apartment, the sheer normalcy of it, but with little pops of Taehyung’s character evident throughout (a Roy Lichtenstein shower curtain, an impressive collection of obscure, progressive jazz on old-school audio cassettes, a framed portrait of a pomeranian hung on a coat rack). The apartment is small and modest, clean and cozy. But Jeongguk knows it can’t be easy to be the one who has to host, who has to wait for a grim-faced security guard to clear the back stairwell and corridor before Jeongguk can sprint up the three flights to see him. It can’t be easy that they can’t go anywhere together, can’t be seen together, can’t meet each other’s people.

Jeongguk sometimes tries to rationalize that the arrangement also makes things easier for Taehyung. That they’re working together to save Taehyung from the sudden scrutiny and the fanaticism that would inevitably rain down upon him if anyone found out. But deep down he knows it’s unfair, that the sacrifices are ultimately for Jeongguk’s sake.

So for every ounce of inconvenience, Jeongguk tries to give a metric ton of pleasure. And they haven’t had The Talk yet - the one about exclusivity and commitment and possibility. Jeongguk has absolutely been putting it off, and he has the distinct sense Taehyung has been putting it off, too. He knows they are both giddy, enraptured by each other. He also senses that they are both rather turned on by the clandestine nature of their secret just as often as they are bummed out about it. It’s risky. Illicit. Tantalizing. They’re both young and insatiable and fuck if it isn’t incredibly hot. 

And it’s not just purely physical, either (Jeongguk reminds himself). The two feed off each other’s laughter when they are together, share stories, play video games. But due to their (well, Jeongguk’s) complicated situation, they don’t get to see each other that often. Once or twice a week usually. It’s not enough, but Jeongguk will take whatever he can get, and give whatever he can of himself when gets it. Well, whatever’s left of him to give after a long day of Being Jeon Jeongguk. He can only hope it’s enough. To keep taking it one step at a time.

And they communicate constantly. Texts and video chats and raunchy selfies and memes and late night phone calls. 

It’s the raunchy selfies that got them in trouble, though Taehyung doesn’t know that yet. It’s entirely Jeongguk’s fault; he sent that particular photo. It’s the reason Jeongguk is dreading tonight, a dread that disappointingly eclipses his excitement at seeing and kissing and touching Taehyung for the first time in six days. He sits on the crisp bedding of the king bed staring out the hotel window at the city lights, phone held slack in his hand, a leg crossed over his knee, bare foot jiggling like he’s trying to shake something off it. 

Tonight could be especially rough and Jeongguk needs to proceed carefully, tread delicately, give generously. Tonight might be the night they have The Talk. Because tonight he has to ask Taehyung to sign a nondisclosure agreement. 

His manager - bless her caring, misguided soul - had offered to break it to Taehyung so Jeongguk wouldn’t have to. He’d snapped at her, and then immediately felt bad about it. She’s only ever trying to protect him from the evil stress monsters. But these are monsters Jeongguk’s gotta battle on his own, and his best weapon is unadulterated adoration for the man currently in the elevator up to his room. If he’s going to be the source of Taehyung’s torment, he must also be the cause for his joy. 

And damn if he isn’t ready to just move right into the joy, into the unadulterated adoration, when he sees this man, this beautiful, quizzical creature standing in the doorway, a coat draped over his arm, a look of wistful anticipation adorning his gorgeous, perfect face. Jeongguk almost forgets that he had promised himself restraint - at least until the hard part’s over - before giving in to desire. He owes Taehyung that. But he’s also terrified it’ll go horribly wrong and he’ll never be able to touch this man’s glorious skin or see his dazzlingly adorable smile again. 

So in the split second it takes Taehyung to cross the threshold, pocketing the keycard Jeongguk had left for him at the front desk and greeting him with a small “hey you”, Jeongguk decides to give in, just a little, just for a moment, before he lets in the complication.

He rises and crosses over to him as if pulled by a magnet. Steps right into Taehyung’s space, gripping his elbows to guide his arms into an embrace. Inhales the addicting scent of shampoo and cologne that reminds Jeongguk of satin smoke and night blooming flowers as he bumps Taehyung gently back against the door, moves one hand up to cushion the back of his head as the other hand trails up Taehyung’s bicep, across his shoulder, up his neck, and over his jaw, splaying his fingers so the pinky rests just behind Taehyung’s ear and the thumb on his bottom lip. Taehyung’s eyes are bright, eager, and it’s almost too much to handle so Jeongguk closes his own eyes as he moves in, brushing their lips together. 

Every time they kiss makes Jeongguk feel like they’re stepping out from a shadow into warm sunlight. There’s an undeniable energy between them when they touch, and even though it’s been three months, Jeongguk gets butterflies every freakin’ time. The butterflies flutter extra hard against Jeongguk’s sternum now as Taehyung presses deeper into the kiss, letting Jeongguk’s thumb pull down on his lip as their mouths tilt and taste each other. 

It’s a romantic moment, sugary sweet in intent as they hold each other and kiss each other, Taehyung tenderly caressing Jeongguk’s back with one hand, gripping his hip with the other. Jeongguk suspects Taehyung has picked up on his energy, the inclination to not rip each others’ clothes off just yet, but to simply bask in each others’ sunlight for a bit. But the sun is a fire after all, and sometimes it’s so hard to resist.

Jeongguk starts to pepper kisses across Taehyung’s jaw, moving towards his ear, rewarded by a deep and resonant sigh as Taehyung angles his head to allow Jeongguk better access. Jeongguk has discovered that Taehyung’s ears are very sensitive to the touch, and Jeongguk can feel goosebumps erupt under his fingertips when he whispers “hey you, too” directly into Taehyung’s ear. 

Taehyung jerks his head back so their mouths meet again, his palms now pressing firmly against Jeongguk’s lower back as he pushes his tongue past Jeongguk’s lips. Their tongues meet inside Jeongguk’s mouth and rub against each other in rhythm with the movement of their mouths. Jeongguk feels a hand grope lower and grab hold of his ass. He feels a heady, wanton desire start to pulse in his fingertips, the base of his spine, and he’s pushing his hips into Taehyung and starting to pull the man’s shirt out from where it’s tucked into his trousers before he remembers the task at hand. 

He pauses, and it’s enough for Taehyung to ease up as well, planting one more kiss on the corner of Jeongguk’s mouth as he moves his hands up to rest on Jeongguk’s shoulders. “What’s up?” Taehyung asks with a remarkably chill expression at complete odds with his flushed face and dilated pupils. It’s so incredibly charming that Jeungguk can’t resist leaning in and pressing his lips against Taehyung’s cheek. 

“Gotta ask you something,” Jeongguk says, muffled, his lips still smushed into Taehyung’s face. 

“Yeah baby?” Taehyung gently grabs Jeongguk’s chin to look at him. “If it’s about the pineapple with cheese thing, I told you I will never compromise.”

Jeongguk giggles and grabs Taehyung’s hand, pulling him fully into the room where they sit side by side at the foot of the bed. “No, you monster, it’s something else.” His eyes dart involuntarily to the file folder sitting on the nearby desk. He suddenly finds he doesn’t want to touch it. He sits on his hands and chews on his lip nervously while Taehyung unties and kicks off his shoes. 

“Something good?” Taehyung’s face indicates that he knows it’s not, but he keeps his voice light and his eyes gentle.

“Something… annoying,” Jeongguk tries, glancing at the folder again, and Taehyung’s eyes follow. He frowns at the folder but it’s more pensive than upset. 

“Ah, something legal.”

“Yeah.” Jeongguk feels like a prick. 

“Hey,” Taehyung grabs his hand, a gesture of kindness Jeongguk doesn’t think he deserves. “I haven’t told anyone about you, you know. Told my friends I’m seeing an agoraphobe named Jae-sang. Only one or two of them really bugged me about it and I told them I was actually fucking an A-List celebrity and none of them believed me. A truly brilliant tactic if you ask me,” he adds with a cheeky grin.

Jeongguk returns the smile reluctantly. “No, yeah, I know you haven’t told anyone. And I really appreciate it because it totally sucks-”

“Doesn’t suck harder than you can, darling,” Taehyung winks, before heaving a sigh and lacing their fingers together. “But I’m totally okay with it. I’ve told you, I get it, I’m okay with it. I want to,” he looks down at their held hands and his cheeks turn pink, “I want to, you know, support you.” 

“I- thank you.” Jeongguk feels equally comforted and ashamed at this sentiment, suddenly finding it very hard to look Taehyung in the eye. 

“I guess I’m just curious - why now? Did I do something…?”

“No, no. I did.”

“What?” Taehyung’s frown deepens, which makes him look unhelpfully cute.

“It’s so stupid,” Jeongguk fidgets a little, looking back at the folder anxiously. “One of the staff members was holding my phone during a shoot and he, uh, saw one of the photos I sent you.” Jeongguk can feel his face burning, but he forces himself to look over at Taehyung. He’s surprised to find Taehyung biting his lip like he’s holding back a smile.

“Which one?” Taehyung asks with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Jeongguk releases a little chuckle; it really is stupid. “The one in the gym mirror,” he grimaces.

Taehyung gives a visible shiver. “Mmm. Really liked that one. I mean, shit, I’d probably take my dick out after a workout too if I looked like you and had my own private gym.” Taehyung sighs, fingering the waistband of Jeongguk’s sweatpants playfully. “Don’t tell me I have to delete it, do you have any idea how much I need that picture to get me through the day?” He pouts, working two fingers below the waistband of Jeongguk’s underwear and leaning his chin into his shoulder. 

“Taehyung-ahh,” Jeongguk whines.  

“Hold on, let me just tell you about it for a second. Gotta cement it in both our memories if you’re gonna make me destroy such a masterpiece,” Taehyung hums into Jeongguk’s ear, stroking his hipbone with those two creeping fingers. Jeongguk is momentarily struck dumb, hypnotized by Taehyung’s voice. And maybe he does want to hear Taehyung talk about it. 

“Your sweaty hair, all stuck to your forehead,” Taehyung starts, his voice heavy, “reminds me how sweaty you get when we go fast, when you do it rough, gets me unhinged, Jeonggukkie. Your fucking arms in those tight fucking sleeves, fuck, makes me think of your arms lifting me up, pinning me against the wall like you did that time after we had the sakke…” his voice has sunk into an airy baritone and his whole hand has breeched under Jeongguk’s waistband and Jeongguk feels completely dizzy with arousal. 

“And oh man, your thighs in those shorts Jeongguk, it’s almost offensive, no wonder they had a problem with it at your work. I wanted to lick those thighs so bad I nearly licked my phone screen,” he breathes and he actually licks the shell of Jeongguk’s ear at that, making Jeongguk gasp. “And how,” Taehyung purrs as his hand gropes lower and lower, “how do dumbbells and bench presses get you so hard, hmm?” Taehyung’s got Jeongguk in his hand now, stroking him slowly. 

“Wasn’t - hunnhh - wasn’t the equipment,” Jeongguk mumbles, breathless. “Was thinkin’ ‘bout you.”

“And you’d deprive me of that ego boost?” Taehyung gripes quietly, his hand unrelenting in its slow rhythm under Jeongguk’s pants. 

“Fuck, Tae,” is all Jeongguk can get out. He still can’t seem to gauge how Taehyung really feels about the NDA, but it’s becoming very difficult to bring the conversation back to it at this point. Until Taehyung beats him to it.

“I’ll delete the picture,” Taehyung murmurs, lips brushing Jeongguk’s neck, “and I’m gonna sign that paper.” He suddenly pulls his hand out of Jeongguk’s pants and grabs Jeongguk’s wrist instead, moving his palm over his own crotch. Jeongguk can feel that Taehyung has gotten hard too, and it makes Jeongguk want to put his mouth all over Taehyung’s body. But just as he’s leaning in, Taehyung grabs Jeongguk’s chin. “I’m going to sign that paper,” he says seriously, “and my dick is going to be in your mouth when I sign it.” 

Jeongguk lets out a breathy laugh. “Guess that’s only fair,” he whispers. 

An hour or so later, they are lying next to each other on the bed, undressed, the NDA bearing Taehyung’s signature hidden back in its folder on the desk, and they are going through all the photos on Taehyung’s phone that he’s now contractually obligated to delete. Taehyung has been good humored about the whole thing, but he’s maintained a litany of snarky comments. Jeongguk’s feeling of guilt has persisted. 

“So I can, um, get you like a separate phone just for, like, for us,” Jeongguk says as he trails his fingers over the tops of Taehyung’s thigh. “It’ll be more secure or whatever so we can keep, um-”

“Keep sending dick pics? I’m honored.” Taehyung is finally starting to sound a little pissed off, and it’s actually something of a relief to Jeongguk. “I’ll be like your drug dealer with a burner phone, hit me up whenever you need a fix.”

“Come on, it’s not like that. I mean, you don’t have to get a new phone either, it’s just, the pictures, if they get into the wrong hands… and then the fans go crazy, and then it’s damage control forever, and…” he’s not sure how to explain.

“Jeez, Jeongguk, they want to eat you alive.”

“No, not all of them, really. Okay, the bad ones are really bad. But most of the fans are lovely.”

“How can you know that? There’s literal millions of them.” Taehyung shifts so his body is turned towards Jeongguk on the bed. “I found an online forum yesterday. People who got you-themed tattoos. Your birthday, your quotes, your photorealistic face, like, injected directly into people’s skin, and, I mean, they don’t even know you. How is that lovely? How is that okay?”

Jeongguk laughs awkwardly, tries to deflect, pulling the sheets up to his chin. “Looking for ideas to get your own me-themed tattoo are you? Can I decide where on your body to put it?” He knows Taehyung is right but it’s rather overwhelming to dwell on.

“Shut up, I’m serious. And I wasn’t even talking about the fans, it’s more, like, the industry. The decision-makers. It’s like they want to consume you, to control you. And then use you to control other people.”

“No, it’s - well, maybe sometimes. But, I mean, I asked for this didn’t I?” It’s something Jeongguk has thought a lot about lately. And if he’s honest with himself, he’s gotten pretty used to feeling used. 

“Did you? Ask for it?” Taehyung doesn’t look pissed anymore. He looks concerned. 

“I don’t think anyone knows what they want when they want to be famous. The fans, yeah, they can be a lot, but I do feel like they care about me. And it’s nice to be cared for.”

They exchange a look.

“I’m grateful,” Jeongguk says, but he knows he appears doubtful.

“You don’t owe anyone your gratitude.”

“I do though. And I definitely feel gratitude for my success, the support I’ve gotten. But I’m also expected to perform gratitude, and that’s where it gets tricky. It’s like, I’m genuinely grateful, but I can’t seem to be genuine about it. It makes my brain hurt.” 

“Plenty of people seem to find you genuine, Jeongguk.”

Jeongguk’s not sure. Sometimes he wonders if he’s even capable of being genuine with himself. He leans his head against Taehyung’s shoulder for a second before lifting it to look at him.

“Did you?”

“Find you genuine? Of course. You’re undeniable.” Taehyung squeezes Jeongguk’s hand and his quirky smile makes Jeongguk’s lungs feel all tickly. 

“I mean,” he blushes. Fidgets with a ring on his pointer finger. “Before you met me. Did you think I was genuine?”

Taehyung doesn’t answer right away. He looks like he’s trying to do a complicated math problem in his head.  “Something about your eyes,” he says finally, but it sounds like an apology and it makes Jeongguk’s insides squirm. Taehyung rubs his thumb over the back of Jeongguk’s hand. “It’s like what you were saying. About it being a performance.”

“Performing genuine?” Oh god, he’s a fraud. 

“Maybe,” Taehyung says, and Jeongguk feels like he wants to scream or kick something or start a livestream and tell everyone he’s not worth their time and they should all find better things to do because he’s a fraud and he was a fraud before this industry blessed him and manufactured him and broke him down and built him up, and he’s a fraud now, too defective and too influential to keep this going any longer and he’s just a shell, a vessel for product placement and trends and algorithms. People love him and he can only ever pretend to love them back. He doesn’t deserve any of it, he deserves- “But maybe it’s precisely that - the performance - that makes you so captivating,” Taehyung says thoughtfully. 

This gives Jeongguk pause. But he sighs.

“My makeup team makes me captivating. I’m nothing special. I’m just - just lucky, or something.”

“But you must be doing something right to have made it this far. That’s not luck, darling, that’s resilience.”

Jeongguk’s lips curl, almost against his will, into a little smile. But then he sighs heavily. “I just feel- I don’t know - I feel small.” He pulls his knees into his chest as if to physically demonstrate the feeling.

“You’re the biggest big to ever be big.”

“So they say.”

“So what is it? That’s making you feel small?” Taehyung’s face is so open, so caring, and Jeongguk just wants him to know. That Jeongguk doesn’t deserve to be Jeon Jeongguk. That Jeongguk doesn’t deserve Taehyung. But he tries to explain it to him, to match Taehyung’s openness with his own vulnerability. And it rushes out of him like floodwater. 

“It’s everything, Tae. It’s the fact that no one can know about us, like we’re some threat to public safety. It’s the pretense of it all. It’s the insecurity. My insecurity, their insecurity. It’s the city and the expectations and the schedule and the people - there are so fucking many people absolutely fucking everywhere, and - and the concrete and the hair products and the TV screens and the words I can never say and it’s un-fucking-relenting and it’s towering over me and - and it’s too much.” His energy is everywhere, his face feels hot, his fingertips feel cold. He realizes he’s pacing around the hotel room; he doesn’t remember getting off the bed. There has to be a reason he got here. There has to be a reason he wanted to get here.

“So let’s get out of here, let’s go somewhere,” Taehyung says, looking into Jeongguk’s damp eyes.

“Where?”

“I know a place where they can’t get- where they can’t get us.” 

They’d driven west, out of the city, away from the hills, crumpling exhaustedly into each other in a little cottage on farmland owned by Taehyung’s family friend.

The sky at night was huge; on clear nights Taehyung felt the stars cheer for them as they kissed under moonlight’s promise. On cloudy nights, the black sky seemed even bigger, equally daunting and comforting, like being covered by the feathers of a dark-winged bird. On the cloudy nights they usually stayed in, warmed themselves in front of the fireplace, drank amaretto, talked, spaced out, doodled, cuddled, joked, watched nostalgic movies on Jeongguk’s tablet. Those cozy-cloudy nights, enveloped in raven wings, were also the nights that most often led them inside each other, leaving them both breathless, reeling, sharing each others’ sweat, memorizing the ecstatic melody of each others’ gasps and moans and pleas.

The days were for adventure, for seeing each other in sunlight, for hiking and giggling and ignoring their phones. They went for long drives along country roads, both of them singing along to the radio at the top of their lungs with the windows down. Taehyung taught Jeongguk how to tend the little vegetable garden next to the cottage. They had groceries delivered so they wouldn’t have to deal with supermarkets. For one whole, delightful week they barely saw any living person but each other. Taehyung is pleasantly surprised that Jeongguk doesn’t seem annoyed by him yet, despite Taehyung hogging the bluetooth speaker and making Jeongguk do most of the cooking.

Taehyung has come to discover Jeongguk’s delightful little quirks that are so different from his public image: the childlike joy he gets around green and growing things, his strange propensity to talk to inanimate objects, the way he cries at sappy movies, how chatty he gets when he’s anxious. And Taehyung has also come to appreciate the things Jeongguk’s fans can’t seem to get enough of: Jeongguk’s fiery competitiveness, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, how sexy he looks when he shakes his hair out of his eyes. The curves of his body, caressed by sunlight in the day and by Taehyung at night.

Taehyung feels refreshed and entirely enchanted, and he never wants to go home. 

But Jeongguk’s minders (or managers or PR staff or whatever) can really only let him get away with one week off the grid, and Taehyung has to return to the office, and before they know it, they are stuck in traffic heading back into the mouth of the city. The southeast hills are visible, but they are shrouded in mist.

Taehyung looks over at Jeongguk. He’s smiling to himself, tapping on the steering wheel with his fingers in time with the radio. He’s so singular, so real. The overwhelming feeling of affection, of admiration, that Taehyung feels is like a physical pain in his chest. Taehyung would do anything for him.

It’s just weird that there’s like a million other people out there who’d do anything for him, too.

Taehyung realizes that neither of them have really spoken in the last half hour. “Hypothetically,” he starts, and Jeongguk tilts his head to indicate that he’s listening. “If people knew about us, do you think they’d take it easier on you?”

Jeongguk nibbles on his lip a little but the smile’s still in his eyes when he replies, “what, because they’d know I’m off the market?”

They’d confirmed this during their time at the cottage. That they hadn’t been seeing anyone else, that Jeongguk wanted to be his boyfriend, and that Taehyung wanted it too. It was a brief but poignant conversation, held in the small hours of the night between linen bedsheets, and it had ended with the acknowledgement that they still had to keep it all a secret, though. Taehyung had been so happy about their decision to be exclusive, and so sleepy and sated in that moment, that he hadn’t registered the slight twinge of disappointment he’d felt at that word: secret. 

“Yeah,” he says now, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind his boyfriend’s ear. “So there’d be less speculation about you. Or at least fewer unsolicited marriage proposals.” 

Jeongguk huffs out a laugh. “I don’t know. Maybe they’d be angry.” 

“Well, that’s their problem.”

“But they’d find a way to make it mine.” They’re having one of those conversations where the meaning of ‘they’ becomes amorphous - ‘they’ are delirious fans, ‘they’ are the gossip magazines, and ‘they’ are the bad eggs at Jeongguk’s management company.  Jeongguk often jokes about “the evil stress monsters.” Taehyung wonders if ‘they’ know the full extent of their power. If Jeongguk gives them more power than they should have. If the monsters should be kept at bay or battled head on. 

Jeongguk continues, “and worse, they’d make it your problem, too.”

Fuck ‘them’.  It just isn’t fair. “Yeah, I s’pose so,” Taehyung sighs quietly.

“It’s just that I keep picturing the headlines - and the circus - that I’ve fallen in love with a fan-”

“But I’m not a fan!” Taehyung exclaims. Jeongguk looks injured. “Well, you know. I wasn’t.” Taehyung’s cheeks are hot, less because of what he just said and more because of the word Jeungguk used a moment ago. Love. Fallen in love. What are those implications? Taehyung shakes his head and inhales through his nose, looks back out the window. “That is, aren’t I more than a fan?” He tries not to sound petulant, keeping his gaze out the window, on the cloud-swept hills. He hears the radio volume lower, and then a sigh.

“Yes. To me, yes. So much more. To them, you’re a headline. I couldn’t do that to you.”

“You don’t have to protect me.” 

“No, I don’t.” Jeongguk sounds determined. Taehyung glances over and Jeongguk momentarily takes his eyes off the road to look back at Taehyung. “But let me?” 

Taehyung isn’t sure if Jeongguk is saying this because of how much he cares, or if it’s a manifestation of some sort of psychological transference from having so many people take care of him all the time, or if he just wants Taehyung to drop the subject. But the purity and honesty in Jeongguk’s voice when he asks makes Taehyung feel that overwhelming pang of affection in his chest.

“Okay, baby. I’ll let you protect me.”

“Thank you, Taehyung,” Jeongguk says, and his angelic smile is back as he reaches to turn the volume dial back up. “My Taehyung.” 

The city feels easier now, after some time away. The southeast hills are like a lumpy old blanket you never want to get rid of, wrapping the city in its fuzzy earthen comfort, wrapping Jeongguk in something like assurance. He feels nearly invigorated, nearly happy, despite the end of their respite. Taehyung had become quieter and quieter on the ride home, as the city seemed to draw more and more of his attention out the window the closer they got. But Jeongguk can appreciate the need for pensive silence, and he let his love zone out in peace. 

His love, he knows this now, but he hasn’t told him yet, hasn’t said the words. He just needs some time to find the right moment. But the thought of telling him fills him with joy (rather than, say, dread), which is an especially good sign. He wonders if Taehyung notices the punchdrunk smile he seems to wear the whole ride home, wonders if Taehyung knows he’s the reason for it.

When he’d dropped Taehyung off in front of his building, the sidewalk looked a little crowded so he’d opted to remain in the safety of tinted windows, grabbing Taehyung’s hand to press two earnest kisses against his knuckles instead of getting out to help him with this bags like he’d intended. But the hazards of secrecy and celebrity feel easier to navigate on this side of their trip, and Taehyung’s hand is soft and perfect against his lips, and he’s sorry to see him go but he knows it’ll be all the more exhilarating when he sees him again. Tomorrow night, Jeongguk promised, as Taehyung got out of the car. 

He had a pretty full afternoon and evening (two board meetings, a stylist consultation, and a press event), but whenever he started to feel the old itch of irrelevance or the overwhelm of too many people engulfing him, he let his mind wander to tomorrow night, let himself simply live in the anticipation of seeing Taehyung again. Smiles came naturally. The city feels easier. He’s in love.

It’s after midnight when he gets home, and he’s a little disappointed that Taehyung hasn’t texted him, and he worries it’s too late to call. But he wants to hear his voice so he calls anyway.

Taehyung’s voice is sleepy, sweet, when he answers. “Hi, hi,” he intones, and the adorableness of it could bring Jeongguk to tears. 

“Hey you,” Jeongguk murmurs. “You sleeping? Go back to sleep.”

“Mmkay, baby. You sleep too, okay?”

“I will,” Jeongguk smiles into the phone, trying to ignore the desire for Taehyung to rally, to talk to him for a bit. But he doesn’t want to be needy. And Taehyung should sleep. “Tomorrow night though? Around nine okay? Your place?”

“Yeah.” There’s a pause on the other line. “Tell the security guy to text me when he gets there, ‘kay?” 

“Okay, goodnight Tae.”

I love you. I wish I was there in your bed with you right now. Nights suck without you.

“‘Night, baby.”

-

It’s 9:45 and Jeongguk is running late. The security detail is already at Taehyung’s apartment, but Jeongguk’s in a car that’s still ten minutes away. He stares at the three texts on his phone screen, each of which had arrived a few minutes apart. 

“ Ugh. Ok.” 

“I’m cranky. And needy.”

“Just be here soon pls.”

Jeongguk wipes clammy palms on his pants, silently willing the car to move faster. He can’t tell if Taehyung is cranky because Jeongguk is late, or because of something else, but he wants to make it better if he can. Wants to shower Taehyung with praise and kisses and get them both lost in each other, so they can forget anything else that’s bothering them. Unless it’s Jeongguk that’s bothering Taehyung. God, he really wishes this car would go faster. 

Ten minutes later and he’s panting outside Taehyung’s apartment door, having bolted up the stairs three at a time and nearly barreled over the security guy at the top. He takes a second to tousle his hair back before knocking. 

The door opens and Jeongguk indulges in a habit he’s developed ever since their first meeting, letting his gaze move upwards from Taehyung’s feet to his face, from his open-toe slippers to the silky bathrobe hung lose over a bare chest and boxer briefs, to the glass of red wine in his hand, up to his endearingly grumpy-looking face. Despite Taehyung’s scowl, he’s an absolute vision, and Jeongguk can’t help but grin, his breath still heavy from running as he gives a sheepish hello.

“Get in here,” Taehyung grunts, pulling Jeongguk in by his lapels and planting a cursory kiss on his forehead. He then turns away and walks into the kitchen, leaving Jeongguk to take off his shoes and get settled on the living room couch. Jeongguk hears things clanging around in the kitchen, and then a flustered-looking Taehyung emerges with a second glass of wine and a plate of snacks. “Eat something, baby,” he says, plopping the plate onto the coffee table and nudging the glass into Jeongguk’s hand before turning on his heel and shuffling back to the kitchen.

“Wait,” Jeongguk calls after him, setting the glass down and half rising from the couch “can I help with-?”

“Nope!” Taehyung’s voice emanates over the renewed sound of cabinet doors and clanking cookware. “You’ve had a busy day and I’m antsy.” He returns a minute later with two steaming bowls of noodles, hands one to Jeongguk and sinks onto the nearby armchair gripping the other. He crosses his legs, chopsticks hovering over his bowl, and looks purposefully over at Jeongguk. “Eat. While it’s hot.”

Jeongguk knows better than to argue, and he obliges, slurping the noodles hastily into his mouth, very much aware of Taehyung’s eyes still on him, even as Taehyung finally starts to eat, too. After Jeongguk feels like he’s had an amount of food Taehyung would deem sufficient, he glances up and catches Taehyung hastily looking down into his bowl. 

“Why are you feeling so cranky then, hm?” Jeongguk asks, finally reaching for his wine glass. 

“‘m not,” Taehyung mumbles with his mouth full. 

“You literally texted me that you’re cranky, Tae. Cranky and needy.” 

“I’m always cranky,” Taehyung says airily, taking a sip of wine.

“Is it because I was late?”

Taehyung sighs and sets down his glass before looking directly at Jeongguk. “It’s because you’re you, darling.”

Fuck. It is because of Jeongguk. 

He doesn’t know what to say, but he must look rather pitiful, because Taehyung’s face softens.

“Don’t worry babe,” he stands and plops down next to Jeongguk, scooching in so their thighs touch. “It’s because you’re you that I’m needy, too.” He smiles and nudges Jeongguk’s shoulder playfully with his own. “Was thinking that I wanted to see you today. It made me needy.” He flicks the tip of his tongue over his top lip, something Taehyung does often but that makes Jeongguk feel all heady. “And cranky.”

“I’m here now.”

“No, I mean, I wanted to see you during the day. On my lunch break. Wanted to visit you. Remembered I couldn’t. Realized I didn’t even know where you were if I could.”

“I’ll tell my manager to email you my schedule, so you know where I am,” Jeongguk suggests, reaching out to play with Taehyung’s hair, pleased when Taehyung closes his eyes in pleasure at the sensation. 

“Still can’t see you though,” Taehyung pouts with his eyes closed. 

“I wanted to see you too,” Jeongguk murmurs, stroking the hair at the nape of Taehyung’s neck. “All day. But we can’t.”

“I know. I know, baby.” Taehyung’s head falls onto Jeongguk’s shoulder with a heavy sigh. “You know, I used to think I wanted to be famous. I think a part of me was jealous of you before I met you. I guess a part of me still is. Sometimes I regret it. That I didn’t try to become… you.”

Jeongguk knew Taehyung used to be something of a performer, but he hadn’t appreciated the sense of loss Taehyung had felt at not pursuing it. Or, shit, maybe he had tried to pursue it and he’d failed. Jeongguk feels terrible that he hadn’t picked up on this before, starts racking his memory for any instance where he might’ve made Taehyung feel badly about it. Like it’s some sort of competition that Jeongguk had won, unknowingly leaving Taehyung in the dust. He thinks about when Taehyung sang in the car, how unique and soulful his voice sounded, how Jeongguk should have told him in that moment how incredibly talented he is. All of this runs through Jeongguk’s head but all he says is, “Want me to talk to someone for you? I mean, I could probably get you an agent in a heartbeat.” 

It’s the wrong thing to say, and Taehyung lifts his head and shoots Jeongguk a stormy glare. 

“No. Never that way. Not through- no.” Taehyung rubs his hand down his face in exasperation. “The point that I’m trying to make here, Jeonggukkie, is that I wouldn’t wish your life on anyone. Including myself,” he adds more gently. “If this,” he gestures between the two of them, “isn’t proof that being famous is more work than it’s worth, then I don’t know what is.”

“Are you saying we’re not worth it?” Jeongguk asks, feeling like he’s swallowed something cold.

Taehyung turns in his seat and grips Jeongguk’s shoulders. “No, not in a million years, my darling. I’m saying,” he sighs, “that you should let me help you make it work. That it’s worth it because it’s the two of us. Because we have each other. Because you have me to ease your burden. And I have you to inspire me.”

“Inspire?”

“Yeah, dude. You inspire me every day,” Taehyung says quietly, his eyes alight.

Jeongguk is in love with this man. He should tell him. He should tell him every single day. His mouth is suddenly dry, his pulse rapid, and all he can see is the beautiful man in front of him. The man that stopped on the sidewalk when he did. The man that watches the hills, feisty, always seeking more. 

“I’m in love with you.”

Taehyung looks into his eyes for a moment, searching. “Good,” he smirks, but it’s warm. “I’m in love with you too.”

He reaches up and sweeps a piece of hair off Jeongguk’s forehead.

Jeongguk catches his hand and stands up, pulling Taehyung up with him. He’s glowing. They’re glowing. “I love you, Kim Taehyung, and fuck, I want everyone to know it.”

“Wha-?”

“Let’s go public.”

“Are you serious?” Taehyung’s incredulous but megawatt smile confirms for Jeongguk that it’s the right decision.

“I’m so serious. So, so serious, Tae,” Jeongguk grins, holding Taehyung’s hands and rocking them side to side in a little dance. 

Taehyung is laughing through tears, and Jeongguk leans in and kisses his forehead, the tip of his nose, the spot where his sideburn meets his jawline. “You know,” Jeongguk says as he moves to kiss Taehyung’s plush lips, “this,” he kisses him again, “is gonna,” another kiss, “be just as hard as keeping it a secret” he finishes, speaking against Taehyung’s mouth. 

“Yeah,” Taehyung hums, pressing his forehead against Jeongguk’s, “but we won’t have to keep it a secret.” Jeongguk isn’t sure Taehyung really appreciates the heat of the spotlight he’s about to get hit with, but he also thinks if anyone can handle it, it’s Taehyung. And just like Taehyung said, they can help each other with it. Jeongguk feels like he’s floating.

“You might end up famous after all." Jeongguk raises his eyebrows, hoping he’s expressing the implications effectively. 

Taehyung swats playfully at Jeongguk’s arm. “In that case, you better watch out Jeon, because I’m prettier than you.”

“I mean, it’s going to be a lot.”

Taehyung brushes a finger across Jeongguk’s lips. “I know,” he says, and he walks over to the window. “C’mere for a second.” He pulls the curtain back, revealing the city lights. 

“What is it?” Jeongguk makes his way over, slips his hand into Taehyung’s as they gaze out the window together. Jeongguk can see their reflection in the dark window and he can’t help but consider how they’ll look together in tabloid pictures. They’ll look fucking gorgeous.

“You can kind of see the hills from here, even at night, look,” Taehyung gestures at the darkened mass just visible against the light pollution. “I’ve looked for these hills every day for the past four years,” Taehyung says quietly. “You said they give you perspective, and that’s what they do for me, too. They remind me that I’m insignificant, but also that I’m full of potential, you know? Last week, at the cottage, I didn’t have the hills, so I looked to you for perspective. And sometimes, compared to you I do feel insignificant. And I will. But I also feel so much possibility with you. My own possibility. I’ve been more myself these last few months than I’ve been in years. You do that for me. The perspective you give me. I’ll have that, I’ll have you, no matter how vicious the monsters get.” He turns to face Jeongguk and Jeongguk is suddenly aware of a watery warmth behind his eyes. “You be my hills, okay?” Taehyung intones. “Be steadfast. Make sure I know you’re there, even when it’s dark, or cloudy, even when the city gets in the way. And I’ll be that for you, too,” he says, brushing a tear off Jeongguk’s cheek. 

Jeongguk is overwhelmed, buzzing, hopeful, as he wraps Taehyung in his arms. “Yes,” he whispers. "I’ll be your hills, my love.”

Along the rugged coastline of Newfoundland, Canada, spruce trees become bent and tangled in the fierce winds that fly off the Atlantic. Even when calm weather returns, the trees retain their windblown shape, fixed in the appearance of perpetual gale, all leaves and limbs pushed to one side. But this blown-over appearance reveals the resilience of the trees just as much as it shows the ferocity of the winds. Harsh winds may bend the trees, but it won’t break them. They remain as steady sentinels along the shore, stand still ever against the elements. 

Taehyung has a coffee table book containing pictures of the twisted trees, the pages glossy and smooth under his fingertips, the images stirring and pensive. 

This will be them, Taehyung decides. They won’t pretend that the winds don’t blow, that they’re unaffected. They’ll let the world see how beautiful the wind can make them. And they won’t fall. 

He’s sitting on his couch, examining the book of these exquisitely hardy trees, when his phone rings. His heart pounds at the name on the screen. Still. Forever. Heart pounding elation, from the moment he got that first text to every word, every greeting ever since. He’s expecting this call, and yet every moment of this love remains delightfully unexpected. 

“Hey babe,” he sighs into the phone.

“Hello, my heart,” Jeongguk’s smile is audible. Taehyung tucks his knees up to his chin in giddy enjoyment of the endearment as Jeongguk continues, “I’m almost there. You ready?” 

“Born ready.”

Taehyung can practically hear Jeongguk roll his eyes. “Can you meet me out front in five?” 

“That depends, did you bring me flowers?” Taehyung is feeling flirty. And determined. 

“I-” Jeongguk’s voice falters. 

“Heh, I’m kidding, my darling. Bring me you. I’ll see you downstairs. I actually got ready early for once,” Taehyung grins. “Important day.” 

“Yeah,” Jeongguk’s nerves are oddly heartwarming. “Are you sure you’re sure?”

“Surely am. Are you?”

“You might have to hold my hand,” Jeongguk says without irony.

“Won’t let go. Need you to protect me, remember?” Taehyung murmurs, trailing his finger over the picture of a particularly gnarled tree before getting up to find his bag.

“Nah, they won’t even know what hit them once they see you. Don’t be too charming though, or I’ll be out of the job.” 

“I’ll have you know I’d make an excellent sugar daddy.”

“Stop trying to turn me on. Downstairs in two minutes.”

“I love it when you order me around,” Taehyung croons, tucking his phone between his ear and his shoulder as he stoops to put on his shoes. They’re the same black shoes he wore the day they met. Jeongguk seems to like them, points it out whenever Taehyung wears them. Taehyung assumes some sort of wardrobe professional is going to give him a different pair to wear for the event, but he might try to ask to keep these ones on. 

“Two minutes, Tae.”

“Don’t worry, baby. See you soon.” 

Their plan is pretty simple, though there have been dozens of emails, itineraries, and meetings for it. They’re going to attend a gala event for a museum. There’s a red carpet beforehand; glitzy and frivolous and lined with media and fans, and once inside Jeongguk is supposed to make some sort of speech to rich guests and press and other celebrities. Lots of eyes. 

The plan is to arrive together, hold hands, and kiss in front of the cameras. No accompanying press release or social media posts, no commentary to work into Jeongguk’s speech. They’re just going to show up together like it’s normal, ignore questions from reporters, and Jeongguk’s staff will deal with follow-ups and fallouts and requests for comments. It was Jeongguk’s idea, ingenious and terrifying. They’re just going to stand there, and let the implications make the statement for them. 

Taehyung will never get over the oddity of receiving a formal schedule that lists kissing his boyfriend as part of the itinerary. He thinks it’s hilarious; has already printed and framed the schedule and given it to Jeongguk in a gift bag. 

“16:30-17:15 final wardrobe consult & styling

17:15-17:40 in transit & venue arrival

17:45-18:05 red carpet & kiss (no interviews)

18:05-18:20 seating”

(When Jeongguk opened the gift, he’d grinned, barked out a laugh, and then promptly burst into tears.)

Taehyung is actually starting to feel nervous as he pushes open the door and makes his way downstairs. There was a time he’d tell himself not to show his nerves. Now he tells himself not to be afraid to let the nerves show. 

And when he emerges from his apartment building, Taehyung’s heart stops. 

Jeongguk is there, leaning against the door of a dark SUV, looking appallingly handsome in a navy suit. He’s holding a bouquet of sunflowers. 

Without thinking, Taehyung bolts across the pavement and positively leaps into Jeongguk’s arms. Jeongguk pushes off the car and lifts Taehyung up, holding the flowers against Taehyung’s back. Taehyung wraps his legs around Jeongguk’s waist and circles his arms around his neck, awash with joy. 

“You actually brought me flowers,” Taehyung laughs, pressing a gentle kiss on Jeongguk’s forehead. Jeongguk’s never brought him flowers before. It had been a genuine joke when he’d mentioned it on the phone earlier. But he’s elated by the gesture.

Jeongguk sounds shy, muffling his words into Taehyung’s shoulder as he replies, “I dunno, they reminded me of you.”

“Fuck this, let’s cancel the thing,” Taehyung murmurs into Jeongguk’s ear. “I need to take you upstairs and thank you properly.” He giggles down at Jeongguk’s flushed face before leaning back a bit in his hold and putting his hands on Jeongguk’s shoulders. “Wait,” he says, looking around. It’s not crowded, but there are people about. He disentangles his body and touches his feet back on the ground. “Darling, you’re out of the car. You’re waiting for me outside the car.”

Jeongguk beams. “Yeah.”

“You’re waiting for me outside the car. Where there’s people. With flowers.” 

“Uh-huh,” Jeongguk says blissfully, pressing the bouquet into Taheyung’s chest before looking around at the passersby. “People are gonna know soon anyway. I didn’t-” he blushes bright red and nuzzles again into the crook of Taehyung’s neck. “I didn’t want to wait.”

Taehyung dips his head down to nudge Jeongguk’s jaw and catch his lips. And now they’re kissing. In public. And the people of the city who pass them by, whether they notice or not, none of them matter. Taehyung hadn’t quite realized how much he had wanted this.

They hold hands in the back of the car; Taehyung isn’t sure whose hand is sweatier. They’re both a bundle of nerves, all giddy and giggly. When they finally pull up at the museum (the stylist had let Taehyung wear his own shoes), Taehyung notices Jeongguk is squeezing his eyes shut. He looks a little pale. 

“We don’t have to do this,” Taehyung says quietly, brushing a thumb across the back of Jeongguk’s hand. Even though he really does want to do this.

Jeongguk takes a shaky inhale and puffs out his cheeks as he releases the breath. Then his eyes snap open and find Taehyung. “Let’s go feed the monsters,” he says steadily.  Not keep them at bay. Not battle them. Feed them. Huh. 

Someone opens the car door from outside, and Jeongguk gets out first, already lifting a hand in greeting to the screaming crowd. Then he turns and holds out his hand to help Taehyung out of the back seat, like a fairytale prince, like a scene from a goddamn movie. 

Taehyung turns to Jeongguk and firmly grabs both his hands in his own. And they stand there, holding each other’s hands and holding each other’s shameless gaze. And there’s buzzing reporters and hungry paparazzi and frenzied fans cacophonizing around them, but all they hear is each other’s heartbeat. And there’s flashing bulbs and pushing bodies and the heavy arms of security pushing against the tide of eager faces, but all they see is their love. Steadfast trees in a coastal wind, rooted together. In this moment. Standing still.